


Choose your own adventure

by counteragent



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/counteragent/pseuds/counteragent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In retrospect, coming on to Sam for the first time in two years right after His Royal Dick Joffrey beheaded Ned Stark in front of his 14 year old daughter was an action fated to failure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choose your own adventure

In retrospect, coming on to Sam for the first time in two years right after His Royal Dick Joffrey beheaded Ned Stark in front of his 14 year old daughter was an action fated to failure. Of course, _in retrospect_ romantic karma would be the least of Dean's problems.

For the moment, Dean could only see Sansa Stark grapple for dignity as she battled grief and terror, a witness to her father’s execution and the demise of her family’s status.

“But—but, she--. He--. This is bullshit!” Real life was bad enough—give a fictional princess a break, goddamn.

“I know, right?” Sam’s eyes were shining with mirth and a fair amount of unfeigned sympathy as Dean spluttered.

“Didn’t someone read the books before they began _filming_ this crap?! Imma hop right in there and strangle that little dick.” Seriously, there was HBO, and then there was just unnecessary viewer trauma.

“Maybe the MOL have a key to Westeros,” Sam agreed solemnly.

Apparently Sam’s sympathy only went so far. Dean decided to beat a little more into him. He tackled Sam to the bed.

Sam might have been force-fed his Wheaties lately, but you couldn’t argue with the results. He had Dean pinned in about 3 seconds. Might have had something to do with that ridiculous look on his face though. Pure nerd. Dean uncle’d, stilling beneath Sam’s weight. He wanted to take Sam in for a moment.

“But seriously, Dean, if the Oz books are real, who knows?” Sam hadn’t caught Dean's vibe yet; he was still geeking out. “Maybe more writers are really prophets, or hunter biographers, or MOL scribes. We’ve concluded more from less.” Sam’s face was alight with curiosity and, amazingly, a hint of wonder. Sam hadn’t looked like that in _years_ , and never about hunting.

On second thought, Sam needed to stop that right now—it might kill Dean to see him so alive. Dean wasn’t allowed to believe the price had been worth it. This was real life, and nothing was that clean.

Dean rolled them, flipping their places, and in one smooth motion bent down to kiss Sam. He wasn’t sure if it was to shut Sam up or to taste a little of the hope infecting his brother.

***

Dean blinked at Sam stupidly from the corner, Sam’s heartfelt apologies filling his ears like cottonballs.

“I’m so sorry man, I had no idea I had that kind of leverage, are you OK?”

Dean’s back and tailbone hurt like a motherfucker. They’d taken his full weight; Dean’s arms and legs had flailed out uselessly in surprise as he flew off the bed.

“Talk to me here, what do you remember?”

Dean’s mouth was going before he could stop it. “I remember you throwing me across the room, jackass.”

“Well, sounds like you’re feeling better,” Sam helped Dean to his feet anyway.

“I’m sorry about that, Dean, really. I guess I just reacted on instinct.”

“Your ‘instinct’ is to chuck me like a dog toy? That’s messed up, Sammy.” Dean was just talking to talk, checking that his parts were all accounted for. Some of the creepy cabinet carvings were sure to be stamped in bruises on his back, great.

“Uh, well.” Sam quieted, looking anywhere but Dean. “I thought—it’s really weird, but—I thought you were going to. Kiss me?”

Dean’s head shot up so fast his neck cramped. Sure, it had been two years. There had been Amelia and Benny and Sam’s near-death between now and the last time they’d fooled around. But Sam’s face held a pure expression—unalloyed embarrassment. Sam was sure there was some mistake, sure that he’d made it. It was unthinkable that Dean would have kissed him. They were crazy, but that was _crazy_. No way would they have ever fumbled together after a life-threatening hunt, the high of success vibrating them at the same frequency. No way would they have clung to each other in the wake of Jess, or Dad, trading wetness between their faces with every desperate kiss. No way would Sam have held him down in the year his deal ticked away and  pounded into him like he could stake Dean to the earth, tether Dean to his brother and keep him out of Hell.

No. That wouldn’t be healthy. And if there was something Sam was becoming, it was healthy.

Adrenaline sang through Dean’s body, screwing his muscles up tight and clenching his heart. He was a character himself now, the doomed hero of the worst kind of story--one he wrote himself.

_Flip to page 46 to confront Zeke now. Turn the page to bide your time, hopelessly._

“Whatever, keep dreaming, pervert,” Dean said.

Sam laughed with relief while Dean’s head rolled in the dirt.


End file.
